Letters from France
by Maisedoat
Summary: Letters home from a man in love with his own wife. I have suffered from writer's block for some months, this is my effort to overcome it on an "anything is better than nothing" basis. *All* comment welcome as I attempt to post a letter a day.
1. Chapter 1

Dear Heart

Boulogne is hot and uncomfortable, not a breath of wind to cool us nor drop of rain to lay the dust. I am currently engaged establishing my position as the new town drunkard, this involves lying in a lot of gutters wearing a considerable amount of cheap wine about my person - I draw the line at actually imbibing much of it.

I know it makes our mutual separation no easier to bear to talk of it but I must tell you how very much I have missed you these last few days. Perhaps it is the lack of physical effort involved in my current impersonation, but I find myself with much time to think and much of that thinking revolves about you, my best beloved.

Yesterday, I was slouching in a doorway, near to the Hotel de Ville, eyes half-shut, when I heard a woman laughing in a cart as it drove past. For half a second, nay less, I thought it was you. This happens far too often for my peace of mind. A girl with copper-gilt hair, a voice in a crowded street, a woman turning a corner - I have not words as poets have, I wish I did for then I could describe the longing for it to be you in truth. There are lives in this city that depend on me, there are people in the prison who will die, humbler folk about the town who depend on the League for the means to live but for the rest of the day it took every ounce of strength I have not to let them all go hang and set off home to you.

I sat there until nightfall and it was as though you were but a street away and all I had to do was get to my feet and run and within minutes I could hold you in my arms, feel your head upon my shoulder, your hands at my face as we kiss. I dream about you often, I always have, but where once my dreams bought me little comfort or ease, now I often regret my waking.

This current venture should last no longer than another week. I have a cottage outside Dover, Frank knows where it is, will you meet me there on the evening of the 28th? Unless the winds prove contrary, Frank will explain if this be the case, I shall be there in hopes of seeing your dear face and kissing your dear hands not later than 9pm. You probably have engagements, abandon them my love, feign illness if you have to but please, be there. I have missed you so very much.

On the reverse is a list of the people I shall be bringing back to England. The people in the first list have family and friends to go to, the people in the second do not and I propose accommodating them at the Windsor house until we can find somewhere suitable for them to go. The Dupont boy is a sturdy, handy sort of lad so I am thinking of an apprenticeship for him with my estate cooper who has no sons of his own. If you could make enquiries there for me, I would be most grateful - the usual premium or a little more if necessary. M. and Mme Gavronde are a delightful old couple who are, however, incapable of making their own way in life now their little property has been stolen from them. There is a vacancy in my family almshouses in Norwich where there is a thriving French community, I would be grateful if you would meet them when I return and see if you agree with me that this would be suitable. I am not sure to which order the sisters belong, once we know that, we can make enquiries in England or the Low Countries, thankfully Tony assures me two of them speak excellent English so disposition should be that much the easier. Have you managed to find employment for the Therond girls? I realised how difficult it will be to find somewhere all three of them can be together but we surely cannot part such devoted sisters, especially in a strange country. I am also concerned that we have not had news of young M. Bellier - would you be very good and write to the school and check on his progress. It may be that he is merely unwilling to impose by writing to his supposed benefactor but I would wish to be certain that we have found the right "berth" for him.

I heartily approve of your idea of offering lessons in English to those of our new arrivals who do not already speak it. If M. Betrand is not yet situated, he strikes me as just the man for the job unless you have someone else in mind. He is young enough to engage the children, intelligent enough to engage the adults, and not so top lofty that he would refuse to teach those who must rely on their hands or brains to make a living.

There, a little business and I am calm again - did you know that writing to you makes my hands tremble? See what power you have over me. I shall return to my business of pretence inebriation now and do my level best not to be distracted by thoughts of you - a feat I fear beyond the poor powers of

Your most humble, obedient and loving servant

PB


	2. Chapter 2

Sweetheart,

I have just today seen Le Moniteur for 21st August and, since I know copies occasionally make their way to London, make haste to write. I do not know which poor soul they guillotined under my name, but I am safe. Indeed, we had already left Rouen the week before.

I know it is difficult for you to believe that I am not reckless, but, as I tell my men and now tell you, dearest of comrades - we prevail because I will not attempt anything I cannot be sure will succeed. Northern France, and indeed Paris itself, are far too dangerous at the moment - spies and revolutionary guards everywhere - and I am bringing everyone away while I still can. The people who help us, the farmers, inn-keepers and such, who do not wish to come, will have to lay low until such time as we can return. They know how to get word to me, if need be.

I had not intended to return for another three weeks but can see now that I must change my plans. That being so, may I hope to meet you at Dover on the 15th of September? I do not have the tide tables with me, so cannot say at what o'clock I can hope to be there, but rest assured, it will be as soon as ever I can. I so long to see you again.

I am tempted to head for the Atlantic coast around La Rochelle, for my next trip. I spent much of my childhood there, with my mother's family, and know it well. Grand-mere and my uncle and cousins were the first family I rescued but there are others there I know and would help if I could. Alas, this takes me further from England and from you. I do not want this, you know I do not, every day we are apart is like a return to those terrible days before we found each other and our peace and is made the more dreadful because I will not be coming back to England with regular groups but must accumulate a number of such groups before a longer trip can be counted worthwhile.

Do I ask too much? Will you come with the Daydream and wait off shore for me? I know how much easier is my part, I have action and the confidence that comes from plans well made, and you have nothing but the waiting. This time of year, storms are likely but you are a good sailor, ma bien-aimee, and if we are successful, it maybe possible to set up a temporary camp on land to receive our new guests. I know I offer so little in return for the great prize you have given me and if you would rather not come and be lonely and doubtless miserably uncomfortable, I beg you, know that I would understand.

I return the last set of estate papers for Mr Ashburton. I have written instructions for everything except the dispute between Martins and Grant. I can make neither head nor tail of this without the map which was ruined by water (the weather here is vile). I have written to Ashburton that you have authority to deal with this and any other estate business in my absence, will you examine the matter for me? All it requires is fairness and I know of no one fairer, in all senses of the word, than you, my darling.

I am glad the sisters are finally settled, I have arranged for a transfer of funds to the convent at Cologne. I wish everyone were so easily satisfied, the Dufaux family are rapidly becoming unmitigated nuisances, if they do not like the cottage at Twickenham they can find better for themselves - and pay for it. My compliments to M. Betrand and will he visit and make the facts of the matter plain.

Enough of business, did you know I wear your last letter under my shirt, like a lovesick boy? I have read it so often it has worn away at the creases and it is well that I have the words by heart. I tell myself it still smells of you, though in truth it probably smells of me, and I mostly smell of horses and sour beer. The inn which is our current headquarters is as safe as anywhere can be in France, but, if cleanliness is next to godliness, this place is positively demonic.

There is, however, one thing that pained me, a little, a very little, in your letter. You know how much I love you, how much I long to lie with you - but if, in the ordinary way of a woman's life, this is not possible - never doubt that it is enough to see you, talk to you, hold you, - so beautiful, so tender and so wise in almost everything. If we never lie together again, I have had more joy in my life than I had thought possible for any man, let alone

Your most humble, obedient and loving servant

PB


	3. Chapter 3

I have bad news, sweetheart, I cannot return to the ship for another week or possibly longer. Although Tony, Hastings, Glynde and I are well, the line of couriers and refuges between here and the sea has been betrayed. At least a dozen people are under arrest, and, while I am confident I can retrieve them - the authorities here have recently been purged for lack of revolutionary zeal, their replacements are from Paris and are heartily despised by the locals - it will take time. Have no fear, I know who was our Judas and have taken steps to ensure he can do no further harm.

Dearest, I am heartsick. My consolation for the weary labour of this last month has been the anticipation of seeing you again. Please write; Glynde is bringing the last family of this trip to the Daydream and will bring your reply. I am selfish enough to beg you to reassure me that you understand and will not lose hope. Perhaps it will be of some consolation when I say that we will be returning to England when I see you next and can spend the Christmas season at home. This time _I_ shall feign illness and we shall spend the time together - I may not let you leave your chamber until the New Year.

These last few days have revealed the failure of this current plan. As my great-uncle, General McIlroy, was fond of saying, "Supply lines make or break a campaign" and mine are far too long for success. The Daydream is too small for its current cargo of passengers. Indeed I fear than nearly anything short of an East Indiaman would be and, while I could hire or buy a larger ship, we would then attract too much attention, including that of the French Navy. I have not decided what I shall do next but I shall have to do something. The situation here is worsening all the time, and like Macbeth, "I have supped full on horrors". I at least can leave and purge the sights and sounds in your arms. Most are not as lucky.

I know I frightened you with my nightmares; you cannot know what an unspeakable comfort to me you are, safe haven in my darkness. Please believe me, that night was the worst for many months and I have been blessedly free from bad dreams ever since. I did however dream of you last night, we were sitting by the river in Richmond, you were wearing a rose-coloured dress, your feet were bare, your hair about your shoulders and I was so happy I could not speak.

I wish I could speak as openly as I write. Perhaps, as you said, I am too English, but speaking of emotions, even my feelings for you is difficult for me. It is not that I am ashamed of my feelings, never think that, but sometimes my own words choke me and I know I hurt you by seeming to make light of all that we feel, all the you have suffered and continue to suffer for me. I have spent eight and twenty years trained to display a mask of well-bred indifference and now I find that mask so very difficult to set aside. I am trying to improve, be patient with me.

Do not allow Madame de la Valliere to impose upon you; just because she was lady-in-waiting to the Queen does not entitle her to any more consideration than the rest of our guests. How she managed to produce two such sweet-natured children I shall never know. The boy Phillippe confided in me (we were sitting in a haystack at the time) that he wishes to enter the church. If he is still of the same mind in a few years time there must be some way we can help. I know the seminary at Douai is closed, perhaps The English College in Rome? There is a natural piety in the lad, unaccompanied by either ostentation or self-righteousness that I found particularly touching. I have no doubt that Madame is planning a glittering career for him - poor boy.

You asked about grand-mere. She was a tiny lady, I doubt she would have reached your shoulder, but she had the heart of a lion and very decided opinions. When next I see you, remind me to tell you her views on Le Roi Soleil. She spent all her life, apart from five unwilling years at Versailles, within twenty miles of the same spot and was all the love I ever knew as a child. Many mothers would, I think, have blamed me for my mother's misfortunes for she was entirely well until my birth, but grand-mere never did. All her censure was directed at my father for, as she saw it, abandoning his responsibilities in his grief. I lived with her between the ages of 8 and 14, ran wild in the woods around her home, played with the stable boys and farm lads, learned my French from her and them, learned my prayers at her knee and her generosity by example. It was not a splendid life, most of the family money was squandered in dancing attendance on the King, but it was calm and loving. She died aboard ship on the way to the Americas with the rest of the family, once I had persuaded them to leave. I wanted her to come back to England with me but she wanted familiar faces about her and the servants and such were to go with my uncle.

My Uncle Henri and his family now live on a plantation my cousin Charles inherited from his godfather. We are estranged. I cannot regard slavery as he does for I saw too much of its cruelty when I travelled out East and, although he and I were never close, I know enough of him to believe him incapable of that sympathy with his fellow man which would make him seek to mitigate its inevitable evils. I regret only the separation from my cousin Augustine, who was kind to me when I was small and she still towered over me. I have tried for months to find out what happened to her husband but have been unable to do so - thank God I managed to find her daughters.

As for me, apart from my disappointment, I am well. The cold I had aboard ship is gone and the cut over my shoulder has healed cleanly and neatly, I have always been fortunate in that regard. I have established myself as a retired soldier, returned from Paris too wounded for further service, this has the welcome advantage that I do not have to stoop even though the halting gait is tiresome. I am continually tempted to make the limp ever more elaborate out of sheer boredom, since I am hanging round the guard stables as a supernumerary and there is little to do except pretend to drink too much and try to prompt them into indiscretion. I believe the life is a sore disappointment for poor Glynde who expected rather more adventure and rather less lounging in insalubrious locations. His reaction to discovering he was verminous make Tony laugh so hard he fell off his seat.

I enclose a copy of Candide; I thought you might enjoy re-reading an old friend. I found it for sale in a market the other day, some poor soul trying for a few sou from the remnants of a gentler time. I overpaid so extravagantly for it, I suspect the old man thought I was mad. Given that I am here and you are there, he was very probably correct, but I am still and ever

Your most humble, obedient and loving servant

PB


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Heart,

I have just received your letter and write immediately with the promise you request.

I give you my word of honour, I shall never again leave while you are still sleeping.

I truly thought to spare you pain. In this, as in so many things where you are concerned, I have failed. I do not ask for pardon, indeed, knowing your generous heart, I am certain I am already forgiven by the most generous woman I have ever known if not by

Your most humble, obedient and penitent servant

PB


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: As you may have noticed, I have taken into account comments in the reviews. If anyone has any other criticisms, I am more than happy to read them. M

--

Sweetheart

I am sending this by Stowmaries who is summoned home immediately. You may have heard that his elder brother died suddenly last month and his father, understandably, does not wish his heir to risk his life in France. Stowmaries is very low, he and his brother were closer than many siblings, I know I can rely on your goodness to welcome him back to England.

Forgive me, my love, but I am afraid I cannot address anything in your last letter - something was awry in the ciphering and all but the salutation was unintelligible. Nevertheless, I wear it next to my heart since it was so lately with you.

I am well, the weather continues cold, but we are so very busy I hardly have time to notice. We are based in an abandoned farmhouse outside town with adequate wood for heating and adequate water for bathing, so all in all in could be a great deal worse. The local wine is excellent and the judicious spreading of English gold, has secured us provisions and some of the locals a better life than they had known for some time.

Kulmstead has proved to be a sorry mistake. It is so difficult to find men whose French is adequate to the task that I let myself be persuaded. Unfortunately, despite warnings from Hastings and Ffoulkes and later from me, he persists in seeing this as a chance to rescue duchesses and their grateful daughters - spending the last three weeks, as we have done, extracting an attorney and his household, including servants, has run foul of his romantic notions. I doubt he will be coming back. I find it difficult to understand or sympathise with such ideas and I worry for his tenants and dependants at home - suffering is suffering and the revolution devours more of its own children than it does those of gentler birth. I dread what must come in the Vendee, there is so much romantic nonsense talked and so few men of sense to temper the bloodthirsty men on both sides.

The girl Marie-Claude who travels with this letter is in a sad state. She says little but I fear, from her appearance when we found her, that she has been violated. Her family were killed by the mob and I fear that violation was the only reason she was spared. I am sending her back with Stowmaries, rather than wait for a full group, because she is so very afraid of being here with a group of men, no matter how gently we speak and act toward her. I am confident that you will know what best to do, if indeed there is anything that can be done. I very much fear than her mind has been overset and it me seems that a household with nothing but women, who will treat her with kindness, would be best. I beg of you to see her and judge for yourself. There is so much pernicious nonsense spoken about a woman's honour in such circumstances and I fear that her own mind magnifies what she has suffered into a thing of self-reproach. If you believe she would be best alone with an attendant, I am sure a cottage can be found somewhere quiet for her. Ashburton may know of somewhere suitable.

It seems so very long since Christmas when last I held you in my arms. My days are full of activity, but the nights are long and I do not dream of you half so often as I might wish. When I got back to the ship from our last parting, I found a strand or two of your hair, caught in the buttons of my topcoat. It may sound foolish, but they are now affixed to the back pages of my cipher book and I find some little comfort in touching them whenever I write, or whenever thoughts of you become difficult to bear. When I started the League, I confess my only thoughts were of the sport, and the rescue of people such as grand-mere, kindly, inoffensive people who oppressed no one or men like De Tournay, whose efforts to reform the politics of France were always doomed to fail. Instead, I found myself ensnared by the terrible suffering of so much innocence.

I am but one man, and no matter how much I do, so much remains. I long to see you so very much, my heart, but every day with you a dozen die whom I might save. However, I must to England within the month. We are nearly finished here, the region grows too dangerous and there comes a time when courage becomes mere reckless folly. I must also show my face in London, lest suspicion grow that I am too often absent when the League is at its busiest. This sounds as though I am reluctant to come home to you - I beg you to believe that nothing could be further from the truth. There are days when the prospect of seeing you once more is all that keeps me sane.

May I hope to meet you at Dover on the evening of the 17th or the early morning of the 18th next? Will you wear the rose-coloured gown for me? It is always thus that you appear in the dreams of

Your most humble, obedient and loving servant

PB


	6. Chapter 6

Dear Heart

Your last letter arrived on a particularly cold and dreary day, and was better than sunshine, hot soup and whole boots. It is such a comfort to me when you are in spirits and your description of Ffoulkes the expectant father was more amusing than I'll warrant he would like generally known. By the by, I found your handkerchief in the pocket of my waistcoat and no, you cannot have it back. It is currently twisted into my neckerchief and will stay there until I can return it to you personally.

I have found somewhere for our latest headquarters outside Paris. The house appears derelict from the outside and from the main roads but there are some rooms sufficiently intact to provide shelter over several weeks, as well as stabling for the horses.

I am intent on making this our home for as long as possible, certainly a month, perhaps two, or in any event as long as it takes to extract my cousin's husband. At the same time, there are several people and three entire families whom I intend shall be conducted to England at the same time. I am not yet certain how M. de Frontenac shall be recovered, his health is poor and I understand he is unwilling to leave - feeling that this would be in some measure the act of a traitor. I have letters from my cousin which I hope will prompt him to reconsider. Be that as it may, I need your assistance. While my plans are not yet set, I believe I require your wits as well as your erstwhile professional skills as part of this enterprise, You know how little I am prepared to risk your life, judge then how little there is to fear. I need another fortnight to complete my preparations so that you should be ready to leave England on the 9th or 10th.

You should bring plain but warm clothing for yourself. Something in the nature of a prosperous farmer's wife, do not, I pray, forget the stout boots and be sure to wear gloves - no one who sees your dear hands would ever take you for a daughter of the soil. I expect at least two small children - a boy of about 5 and a girl slightly older and we may have to pass them off as our offspring. The boy is rather deaf as the result of illness during infancy and requires that gentleness I have always loved in you.

I think we should also plan a ball, something extravagant and even ostentatious. The Prince of Wales has commented on my continued absences and while I know you cannot respect him - who can - the fact remains that if he has noticed, others will have done so too. Your birthday would make a suitable occasion for display and I should welcome the opportunity to celebrate it with you after the disappointments of the last two anniversaries. When I say "we" I am conscious that this will inevitably mean "you" and I am at present too demmed fatigued to think of a pretty or graceful way to say that I love you and that I am so very grateful for everything you do for and with me. I do not deserve you or your love and am ever more conscious that this is so. You deserve better than me and the life I lead you, and my poor weary brain circles round our situation and can find no end to it save a separation which you must know would kill me.

And yet, and yet I would give much to stand before the world and say, This is my love, see what a great and noble woman hath given me her heart. See what she is, see what she hath done, my lover and my wife.

La! I swear I wax poetic and a poet in boots such as these is a sorry sight indeed. So, mon âme, before my folly taxes even your angelic patience, I beg to remain

Your most humble, obedient and loving servant

PB


	7. Chapter 7

Margot,

You must leave the farmhouse immediately, take only your clothes and any money there is left. Go with Hastings to the house in the Rue Maçon and wait there until midnight Wednesday. The rest of the League will join you there. Do not wait after this date but make for the coast - the Daydream is off Calais, you all know the rendez-vous. Go back to England - I give you my word of honour I am safe and well and know what I am about.

Tell Captain Briggs to come back for me on the evening of the 23rd and to keep coming back at every high tide during the hours of darkness until I come.

I have not time to write much but I shall be at your birthday ball if all the hounds of hell stood in my way. Hastings has orders to ensure that you go, try not to worry about me, know that I love you and that I shall return to you.

PB


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